Memories Like Photographs
by annanabanana
Summary: For Nina's Birthday! Just a short little ditty. Edward mostly and it may be slightly sad...


**a/n: So kids this was written for Ninapolitan's Birthday. If you want to read the others go here: **

_**http://www . fanfiction . net/s/5437177/1/Happy_Birthday_Nina**_

**Thanks to ilsuocantante for the quick beta job and last minute two person WC! I lurve you walla.**

**The Characters aren't mine but the wordiness is.**

**My word prompts are: touch, heart, photograph.  
**

My fingerprints rested against her chest, and the quickened thump under pale peach pulsed a rhythm my skin, my lips remembered. My hand slid back up to her face where I'd forgotten to start. Always. My quiet, sighing worship started with the first of her I'd seen. Always.

I traced the glossy strands of her deep hair; a memory of silk and soft and warm smells of fall and a tickle against my chest as her skin met mine. Following a swirl of chestnut back to soft skin, fingers smoothed the worry, sadness etched into delicate tissue. Pressing out every scrunch and squint above glossy eyes, I remembered those open, clear windows into a pure soul. I remembered the last time I truly saw anything but her, that insignificant moment before her eyes first met mine.

I skimmed the soft edge of her nose, feeling the button of cold burrow into my neck after our first snowball fight. A flurry of wet and white and the crunch of flakes, all pale against her. I found the lips which warmed the shock of chill against my skin her nose left behind. I brushed them with my fingers as I would with my kiss, and I saw every parting of plush pink. Sometimes to slide a tongue tip slowly over them, sometimes to expel sweet heated breaths I wanted to swallow and hold deep in my belly to have her taste with me always.

Then with my fingers still hovering over them, I heard her.

The first word my ear heard from her, "Like."

The first my fingers twitched toward, "Want."

The first word which pulsed in my groin, "Need."

And a whirl of her sound breezed through me, settling on the last simple words we gave each other.

"I keep you here, Edward, here inside my chest," she'd said. I felt her balled fingers against her sternum in the mirror of my own.

"It's just too long. Always too long, Bella." My words released in painful sighs, attempting to expel the near constant ache.

"I know," her breath reverberated against my ear, her rich velvety tone another mirror of my own ache.

My touch found its way back down to where it'd started. So hasty, so eager to begin with the end; the smooth space between the swell of plush creamy white disappearing into deep blue silk, rough compared to her skin.

I felt and remembered, fingers praying over the thrum, the thick heavy throb echoing in my pulse. I remembered the unfamiliar ring in my ear as I hovered over her delicate skin for the first time, unruly hair brushing across her chest. The ring grew louder, stronger, and it beat out a rhythm with the knitting ache in my ribs. The throb filled my head, and my whole body pulsed in time. I felt her heart inside my own chest with my skin against hers, and my aching faded into oblivion.

"I'd like to see you again," she'd said. After I'd stared at her face and given her my name.

"Don't you see I want you?" she'd asked. After I'd fucked things up with my own insecurities again.

"You need me as much as I need you," she'd breathed. After she'd realized I sought reassurance in her body against mine.

And I unraveled, came undone.

I traced my fingers across the smooth surface one more time. I fingered the frayed edges carefully, feeling the familiar paper and emulsion, a lover under my skin. I studied the three-dimensional woman in two-dimensions, colors under shine. I remembered what her body did with mine. What we could do with each other.

I tucked the photograph back into my pocket where it stayed.

"Always too long," I whispered to myself, leaning back into the pillows on my bed.

I covered my face with my old t-shirt she'd worn, and I breathed in stale remnants of her. She was fading from the fabric, disappearing from the threadbare cotton. Too long.

I remembered her in this shirt, and I could feel her, all warm soft curves molding into edges, hard across my body. Delicate fingers tugged the cloth away from my face, and my sad, hollow green met sparkling, crystalline brown, swimming with soul.

And I remembered in a rush of heat and tingles across my skin.

"I love you, Edward," she'd said as a beautiful rhythm danced just under her skin, just inside my chest, and it swelled to bursting.


End file.
